


Best Served Hot

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Betaed, Breakups, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Love, Revenge, Sappy Endings, previous Fenris/Female Hawke relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is still recovering from the sting of Fenris' rejection after their night together when Varric finds out what transpired.  Angry and jealous, he seeks Fenris out, wanting answers and a bit of revenge (for his sake or hers, he isn't entirely sure.)  A short story about love and how it drives us to do strange and sometimes stupid things, and what happens when Hawke and Varric finally come to an understanding of how they feel for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Served Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read like a BOSS by saintrevenge; title also came from her. Best beta I've had in a long time! All other mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also fills saintrevenge's prompt: "So I've always thought that Varric let Fenris off too easy. I'd love to see him give Fenris a talking to. Something along the lines of beating him up and making him sorry for breaking the heart of the woman he loves and feels he can't tell. I'd love to see how Hawke reacts when she finds out and Varric vents at her for picking Fenris over him and then taking his side. Then lots of yummy smex with maybe some territorial marking taking place?"
> 
> I took a few liberties with it but they were well within the boundaries/spirit of the prompt.
> 
> One scene inspired by Aimo's work at DeviantArt: http://aimo.deviantart.com/art/DA2-Pressure-213898991 All Varric/Hawke fans need to see this! (Link courtesy of my beta, thanks for the plot bunnies!)

_“Perhaps you don’t realize how upsetting this is.  I’ve never remembered anything, and to have it all come back in a rush, only to lose it...I can’t.  I can’t.”_

_“We can work through this.”_

_“I’m sorry.  I feel like such a fool.  All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while.  Forgive me.”_

Hawke sat, motionless, for a long time after Fenris left.  Everything that had happened played on a loop in her mind - the slaver’s caves, Hadriana, Fenris’ pure rage and hatred melting into regret at how he’d treated her.  

How he’d felt under her hands when she’d shoved him into the wall.  He had been hot to the touch, the lyrium brandings in his skin pulsing as he hesitated just for a moment before their lips met.  He’d tasted fantastic, like sand and salt and ozone.  All that pent up anger and pain he’d poured into her and she’d taken it and turned it into something bright and beautiful.

He’d gasped and moaned under her hands, not even so much as smirking when she shoved him down on her bed and crawled over him, her body stretched in a sinuous line, begging for his touch.  He had been  as needy and desperate as she was, two lost souls finding each other in the dark.  Maker, he’d been beautiful, olive skin and lean, muscled body revealed bit by bit as she stripped him of his armor.  Fenris had let her take control at first and she had been silently glad for it.  

“You have to tell me if something hurts,” she had whispered in his ear, tracing her fingertips over his lips.

“I’m far beyond pain at this point,” he’d whispered back, his voice ragged.  She had dragged her hand lower, skimming his throat, then sliding down to trace the hard lines of lithe muscle in his chest.  He’d jerked away as if he’d been burned and she had pulled back, worried.

“I’m just....sensitive,” he’d said, instantly reaching for her.  “I can’t remember someone touching me and it being pleasurable.”  Hawke had struggled with her robe, wanting to let him touch her, to show him that the feel of another’s hands could be gentle and loving.  

“Then touch me,” she’d said, a small smile quirking her lips.  He’d smiled back, realization lighting his green eyes, and reached for her.  She’d let him pull her closer, long fingers dancing across her waist to tug at the belt of her robe.  One vicious pull, and it had given way, baring her to him. “Beautiful,” he’d said in a stunned voice.  “You are absolutely beautiful.”

“Fenris, please,” she’d said softly, eyes beseeching, a hand running up his leg.  

And he’d caved then, the remnants of his hate and his pain morphing into lust and desire as he laid her down and ran his hands over every inch of her.  He’d kissed her like he could never get enough of her, touched her like she was worthy of worship, and made love to her like one of them might break in two.  And then he was gone, and she’d known.  What they could have wasn’t something that he truly believed he deserved.

She could still feel his touch, ghosting over her skin, mocking her.  Maybe she’d been the fool, thinking that they could have something together.  She’d wanted to save him, yes, but also be a bigger part of his life than a source of coin and occasional pleasure.  It turned out saving him meant loving him, then letting him leave.

The weight of her Mabari’s head in her lap pulled Hawke from her thoughts.  She half-heartedly scratched his ears until he pawed at her, wanting more.  She chuckled dryly, scratching harder.  “At least you love me, right boy?”  He barked once, spun around, then collapsed on the rug in front of the fireplace to watch her.

“Now what do I do?” she asked the empty air.  What was she to do?  She certainly still desired him but his rejection - of her, of them, of his own ability to heal the scars of his past - left her cold.  Some strong woman she was - a lover left her in the middle of the night and she was mourning him like she’d lost a soul mate.  It was stupid, how she felt, but him leaving didn’t burn any less.

Maybe what could have been wasn't simply meant to be.  The harsh reality of it settled around her and she decided then that she wasn’t going to let it get the better of her.  Hawke, plunderer of the Deep Roads, unstoppable in battle, admired by many and hated by more, had to admit to herself that she really was lonely.  And that terrible truth kept her awake the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

“Hawke.”  A beat, and then, “ _Hawke_.”  Sighing, Varric tapped his foot, debating if he should call a third time.

“What do you want, Varric?”

 _Finally, she answers_ , he thought.  “Well, seeing as how you’ve been tied up with hobnobbing around the neighborhood the last few days, I thought I’d come by to check on my favorite ogre-killer.”

Silence.

_Really, nothing?  I thought for sure I’d at least get a trademark Hawke scoff at that._

“Can I come in?”

Now she sighed.  “If you must.”

Gingerly, he turned the door’s handle and peered inside.  It was dark, save for the fire and the last bit of twilight winking through her half-open curtains.  A gentle breeze blew through her open window, brushing against his face.  After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he saw Hawke perched on the windowsill, her face tilted up to the sky.

He was struck by the pretty picture she made, her form silhouetted against the darkening horizon.  Dressed simply in a loose tunic and trousers, she had her arms wrapped around her knees and was staring out into the night. Her hair was down, a rarity for Morena Hawke. She always kept that lush auburn hair of hers tied up so primly.  Seeing it like that, wild, loose waves tumbling around her shoulders and softening her face, made his heart skip a beat. She looked like a painting, beautiful and pensive, her proud chin held high.  She was excellent at masking her pain, but Varric saw the tight line furrowing her brow.

Rumor was that the elf had been here a few nights ago, stayed, then left in a hurry.  And since the rumor came courtesy of Isabela, and she’d told him this with concern etched on her face, he was partial to believing it.  None of their little party had seen much of Fenris these last few days either, and Varric could only come to one conclusion: Fenris had bedded her, then fled.  Rotten bastard.  But anything he came up with was just a guess at this point.  Varric had come to find Hawke, put a smile on her gorgeous face, and then gently pry the story from her if she needed a sympathetic ear.

“Hey, Hawke. Nice view,” he said as he made his way over to her.  She looked down at him after several moments of silence, her eyes roaming over his face as if searching for his intentions. Finding what she was looking for, she jerked her head toward the other end of the window seat in invitation.

He pulled himself up to join her.  “Any of the neighbors doing anything interesting?”

She shook her head.  “Not tonight.  Thank the Maker. The Highlands have finally stopped screwing with the curtains open.”

He quirked an amused eyebrow at her.  “Got a bit of a voyeuristic streak there, Hawke?”

Hawke tapped the window and said, “Hard to ignore when you’re minding your own business and then-”

"Witness more than you ever cared to see? Lots of flesh and wobbly bits?” he finished with forced levity.

“Unfortunately,” she said, shuddering.

_Nice job, Varric.  You come to cheer her up and wind up making lewd suggestions instead.  Get to the heart of the matter - her and Fenris._

So he tried the direct approach.  “Hawke, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?  You missed our date last night.”

That made Morena turn and look at him.  “Date?”

He shook a finger at her.  “You stood me up.  Left me waiting at the door in my nicest tunic with a bouquet of wilting roses in my hands.” At her increasingly confused look, Varric elaborated, “You know that thing you’ve been doing for almost four years?  Our weekly card game, the one you missed last night? You didn’t even send Bodahn down with a note to say you wouldn’t be coming.”  He sighed dramatically, acting exaggeratedly mopey.  “The beer got warm, I lost some money to Rivaini, and you missed some pretty good stories from Blondie about being a Grey Warden.”  He reached out and tapped her on the leg.  “So yes, you missed our date last night.  Would have been a lot more fun with you there.”

Hawke chewed on her lip for a moment and then said, “I’m sorry, Varric.  Mother had me at these dreadful parties and then -” She trailed off, thinking about Fenris for a moment.  “I didn’t mean to miss card night.”

He edged closer to her to grab her hand in both of his.  “I’m not mad, beautiful.”  She glanced his way and he saw a pained expression paint her face for just a moment before her stoic expression slipped back into place.  Damn that elf.  He’d probably said all kinds of sweet things to her, and then left her cold and alone with only memories to keep her warm.  “Hawke, what is it?  I’m really worried here.”

“It’s nothing, Varric,” she said a just little too quickly.

“Liar,” he admonished softly. He waited a beat for her to be more forthcoming before continuing, “Well, if you can’t tell me, want me to get Rivaini or Daisy instead?”  She shook her head, her jaw tightening.  He took a deep breath and finally asked, softly and without any demands, “Was it Fenris?”

“He left me,” she said quickly, her voice bereft of all emotion.  He said nothing, giving her time.  Finally, she sighed and said, “I was foolish to think we would work.  And I hate that I feel this way, like I’ve been abandoned, of all things.”  She laughed, a short thing that cut him to the core.  “Some hero I am, laid flat by a broody, white-haired elf.”

She hadn’t moved, still had her arms wrapped around her knees.  Varric wanted to comfort her, but wasn’t sure of how he could, knowing it could blow up in his face.  So he went for what Hawke would have expected from him- humor.  “Hoping I’m not out of line here, Hawke, but....do you want a hug? They’re in really high demand but I can make an exception and slip you one on the sly.”

She looked sharply at him, not liking that he was making light of the situation. But maybe she saw through his quip because she said, “I won’t say no if you’re offering.”

He spread his arms wide, eyebrows waggling a little.  “Then come here.  Varric will make it _all_ better.”

Unable to help herself, she laughed and scooted closer to him.  He pulled her into the warmth of his embrace and she turned to put her back to his chest.  They sat like that for several long moments, her curled into him, and something stirred in his chest.  He adored this woman, wanted to protect her even though he knew she could hold her own against anyone.  But this fierce possessiveness rose up in him like a beast - and anger, hot and flaring, made him see red.  He fought to keep his breathing even as murderous thoughts danced through his mind. He thought mostly about what he would do to that elf for causing Hawke to hurt like this.  And she was hurting.  Morena Hawke was funny and smart-mouthed and never kept her opinions to herself, but she was also very good at hiding her pain.

He looked down at her and said,  “Do you want to talk about it?  I’m here, whatever you need.”

Morena shook her head.  “It’s not something you should have to worry about.”

“I get to make the decisions on what I worry about, Hawke. And right now, it’s you.”  He ran a hand over her hair gently.

“It’s not fair of me-”

He tipped her face up with a finger under her chin.  “I care for you, Hawke.  That’s the only excuse I need.”

The smallest of smiles graced her face.  “You’re too good to me, Varric.”

He smiled back.  “You’re one of the few people I know who deserves it.”  Gently, he ran a hand down her face.  She turned into the warmth he offered, the relief on her face loosening something near his heart.

All too soon, she pulled away from him.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe I just need to get it out so I can move on.”  And so she told him.  How Fenris had come to her, angry; how that anger had warped into his need for solace, and how she’d given it to him while taking her own; and what he had said before he’d left her.  She didn’t tell him everything (he didn’t need _those_ details).  And when she was through, he’d turned his face away, quelling his rising anger.  She didn’t need to see murder in his eyes, or she’d stop him from doing exactly what he had planned. What she wouldn’t do. What she couldn’t.

Instead, he willed down his rage, squashing it under his concern for her, and when he turned back, she was relieved to see that his face bore only worry and understanding.

“Hawke, I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what else to say.”  His voice tightened.  “Damn that elf.”  Sighing, he leaned back against the wall, dragging her with him.  She let him wrap his arms around her once more, offering what he could to chase away the loneliness.  

Hawke reclined against him, her head just below his chin, and said, “Don’t do anything, Varric.”

 _Like introduce that stupid elf to the business end of Bianca?_  “What would I do?” he asked innocently.

“Varric, I know you.  I don’t need you avenging my womanly honor or some shit like that.”

The hard edge of her voice made him hold her a little tighter, a growl entering his usual timbre as the words burst forwards from his chest,  “And why not?  What makes that elf think he can just-”

She turned to him then, eyes boring into him.  “Fenris did what he had to.  I’m not going to be angry at him for having difficulty dealing with what happened.  He’s been through more than any of us, Varric.  I had thought - I had thought that there might be something between us, for both of us.  But if there was, I know now that it’s not meant to be.”

“He’s stupid,” he muttered into her hair.  “Anyone who would toss you aside like that is an utter idiot.”  Varric’s gaze softened as he murmured, “You deserve better.”

Morena’s lips parted, what she wanted to say right at their edge but she found herself unable to voice it.  So instead, she said simply, “Thank you, Varric,” and settled back down in his arms.

They sat there for hours, until dawn’s first light sparked against the horizon. As the light coming through the window hit his eyes slowly, his consciousness was dragged forward. Shaking himself from sleep, he craned his neck to look down at her.  Morena had turned slightly onto her side, one hand resting on his chest, the other tucked under her cheek as she slept against the brocade of his tunic.  That hand on him had curled in sleep, like she’d been fighting someone or something in her dreams. It made him smile, the small gesture so like the hero he made her out to be in his tales.

Varric pulled off his gloves with his teeth as gently and slowly as possible, not wanting to disturb her but needing to touch her.  Sleep washed away the pain and grief on her face, stealing tension from her body and leaving her, if even for a short while, completely innocent.  Her auburn hair was spread over and around him and he ached to touch it.  Unable to quell his urge, he stretched the cramps from his hand and reached down to gently wind a tendril of hair around his finger. He’d longed to unbind her hair for as long as he could remember. To drag his fingers through it as he made love to her until she couldn’t remember her own name. And while he might not be able to do the one, he couldn’t deny himself the other with her so close.

Unfortunately, like any true warrior, even the smallest change in her environment could awaken her from the deepest sleeps.  The Fade lost its hold as Morena started, the hand she had placed on Varric’s chest shoving him down roughly, her other arm going to his throat to crush his windpipe as she sat up quickly.  He pulled his hand from her hair and placed it calmly on her shoulder.  “Hawke, it’s okay.  It’s just me,” he choked out.

She instantly relaxed her hold, slumping against him once more.  “I’m so sorry Varric, you startled me. Are you okay?” She waited a beat, noticing where they still were before she added, “Did we sleep like this all night?”

He wheezed out a laugh. “I’m fine. It would take more than to do me in. And you slept like the dead, Hawke.  Must be my calming influence.”

She chuckled.  “Must be.”

Varric reached down to pat his pockets, and finding the lumps he was looking for, said, “If you’re done spooning with me, I have an idea.”

Morena lifted her head to peer at him.  “Is this another Varric idea I’m going to regret?  I recall the last one had me dancing a jig with Anders.”

He laughed at that.  “Nothing like that this time, beautiful.”  He hissed through his teeth at the slip, worried that he’d broken the moment.

“It’s okay, Varric,” she said, her words a balm.  “Fenris had called me beautiful but he doesn’t get a stake on that word.  You’ve been calling me that for years.  I’d rather associate that word with you than with him.”  Morena slowly extracted herself from his arms, stretched, and stood.  

Varric followed suit.  “Let’s go to the roof.”  He pulled two cheroots from his pocket.  “I think I want to watch the sunrise.”

It was a thing they did after a big battle, sitting on her roof and watching the sun climb over the land and buildings of Kirkwall.  They would sit, side by side, smoking and talking.  It was their moment, time carved out for just the two of them and she badly needed that moment now.

So they climbed to the roof and sat and smoked.  They didn’t talk as much as they normally did, but were content to simply be in each other’s company.  

Morena was deeply touched that Varric had thought of this before he arrived at her door last night.  He was always watching out for her, even when she was only partially aware of it.  She owed him more than she could ever imagine.  

The clarity of the moment chased the last remnants of sleep from her mind and she looked at him, meeting his eyes.  He stared back and smiled, puffing on the cheroot and letting the smoke drift away from them.  What drove her to do it, she wasn’t sure, but his presence eased her mind and made her feel more loved than she could ever remember.

In that moment, everything was crystal clear.  She knew that Varric would do anything for her and loved that about him. She wanted him to know it, too. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, Morena raised a hand to cup his cheek and leaned over to plant a soft kiss on his mouth.

Varric froze, stunned by feel of her lips on his.  It was a chaste thing, her kiss, but it shook him to his bones.  He almost groaned when she pulled away, taking her warmth and her scent with her.

Words failed him, so he took her hand in his and held it, treasuring every second.

 

* * *

 

When Fenris arrived at The Hanged Man for the weekly game of Wicked Grace Varric always hosted, he found their usual table empty.  Eyes narrowing, he searched the dimly lit room for any sign of a familiar face and after a few long moments, he found none. This wasn’t right. For almost four years now, the group had met at least once a week to ease the stress of daily life, or to take the edge off a particularly nasty battle.  Sometimes they planned their next job while they drank, but most of the time they played card and lost more money than they could afford to Varric or Isabela. They met on the week’s end like clockwork and with not a single of his companions in sight, he began to worry. His eyes scanned the room again, hoping he’d just missed them somehow.  Alas, they were not anywhere to be found.

Wild thoughts ran through his mind as he contemplated the possibilities - they’d been kidnapped, maybe by Danarius, as retribution for his escape.  But it was unlikely Danarius could take the entire group, especially Hawke. Maybe it was the Coterie, but that didn’t seem right either. They preferred to slaughter those who crossed them, though Hawke had been running into them more and more lately. He became more frantic as his thoughts turned wild. He needed to find them, to find Hawke and make sure that she was safe.

He winced as her face came to his mind - how she smiled, how she kissed, how she’d looked when he’d driven her over that edge of pleasure...and how she’d looked when he’d left her, like a fraction of her assumed reality had been shattered just a little.  He would have taken outright rage or tears over that still, silent calm she had exhibited.  It wasn’t right, what he’d done, and he needed to make amends, to explain why.  It had been almost two weeks, surely that was enough time for him to avoid hurting her more by making his apologies.

Desperation squeezed his chest with its tight fist and he whirled around to the door, sure that something horrible had happened to them.  He knew he was being foolish, there was no way that all of them had been taken.  It was far more likely that Aveline had called simply Hawke and a few of the others to assist with an off-the-books problem that was outside her scope as Guard Captain.  And anyone else was likely at home waiting to be called to aid Hawke when she needed them.  Cursing under his breath, he started his journey back to Hightown. He needed to plan how he was going to approach Hawke, how he was going to fix things.

The cool night air against his face sapped the rest of his paranoia from him.  Looking up, he saw a sky littered with tiny pinpricks of light and remembered a conversation he’d had with Hawke several weeks ago.  It hurt to think of her, but seeing the stars laid out so openly recalled the memory.

She’d offered to help the abomination gather herbs that only flowered in the moonlight and for whatever reason, had drug him along to some blasted part of the Wounded Coast where even the darkspawn didn’t tread.  

Varric had sat and watched Anders putter around in the brush, muttering and occasionally making a surprised or aggravated exclamation (mostly if he’d found a patch of something useful, or stubbed his toe on a rock well hidden in shadows.)  The dwarf had pulled out a leather wrapped pack of the cheroots and offered one to Hawke, who had taken it gladly, then offered one to him.  Fenris had waved him off and Varric had just shrugged, tucking the pack back into his jacket and lighting Hawke’s, then his own.

Hawke had motioned to him and said, “Come on, Fenris, let’s see what’s further down the beach.  If we’re lucky, they’ll be an ogre you can kill.”

“I’ll just stay here with Blondie,” Varric had called after them.  “Try not to get yourselves maimed or killed.”

Hawke had laughed, making Varric smile, and started down the beach at a quick pace.  Fenris trotted behind her, trying to keep up.   _Fasta vass_ , the woman walked quickly, even when she was wearing all that armor.

He must have cursed because she’d turned to look back at him as he ran in the sand and laughed.  “I’m not in any hurry, Fenris.  Anders will likely take all night looking for his herbs.”

“You certainly walk like you’re in a hurry,” he’d huffed.  She’d just waved him on and kept walking. She would have never admitted it, but he knew she’d sped up a little, just to see if he would continue their impromptu game of tag.  She had been infuriating, between her quick steps and the way she kept blowing smoke at him.  

At least the smoke hadn’t made him cough; it had smelled rather pleasant actually, like cinnamon and sandalwood and dry autumn leaves.  She’d smell like that for days now, her and Varric both.  Fenris tried very hard not to remember one particular time he’d caught that scent on the air and turned to say something flirty to Hawke.  Instead, he’d found Varric standing there with a stupid grin on his face.   _Damned dwarf_.

When Hawke had finally had enough, she stopped, making Fenris pull up short and nearly collide with her.  She had put a steadying hand on him and gestured to a flat rock sticking up out of the sand.

Gratefully, he’d sat and she had plopped down beside him, her armor clanging against the hard stone.  She’d puffed a few times on the cheroot, the red glare from the embers flaring up to outline her  face.  Her eyes had followed the trail of smoke out over the water and up to disappear into the inky sky.

“Most of it may be full of darkspawn, but this part of the Wounded Coast is actually quite pretty,” she’d said softly, lifting her face to the stars.

He’d watched her, entranced, unable to speak. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and he was content to simply watch her. Finally, she nudged him in the side and he’d said, “Yes, well, I suppose I can see the appeal.”

Hawke had motioned to the water with a hand.  “Does nothing move you, Fenris?  Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel anything when you look out at all this?" She’d gestured with her head toward the sky.  “Does not even the night sky stir feelings in you?”

“Perhaps,” he had said slowly, watching her face.  “Or maybe it’s the company I find more alluring.”

Hawke hadn’t even blushed, just blown smoke out toward the water before she’d turned to look at him steadily.  “Are you flirting with me, Fenris?”

“Do you want me to?”

That had made her smile.  “Perhaps.”  She’d laughed as an annoyed look had flitted across his face.  “What?  You can play coy but I can’t?”

“There’s nothing coy about you,” he’d muttered and she’d  laughed again. Infuriating woman.  “More like exasperating.”

Hawke had flung herself backwards onto the stone so she could look directly at the stars.  “You say the nicest things to a girl, Fenris.  If you keep that up, I may just drag you home with me.”

An unbidden shiver had slithered down his spine at her playful suggestion.  She wouldn’t have to drag him, he’d go willingly.  What he would do once she got him home was another matter.  As badly as he ached for her, Hawke confounded him and he had no experience that he knew of with women.

A strong arm had wrapped around his waist and pulled him down.  Hawke chuckled as he’d hit the stone hard and glared at her.  “Was that really necessary?”

“You were brooding.  I decided to shake you out of it.”

“You could have said something, Hawke. You didn’t have to manhandle me.”

She’d leaned close and whispered against his ear, “I could if you want me to.”  A finger traced over his ear lightly, forcing him to suck in a breath.  Her little laugh rolled over him.  “Just say the word, Fenris.”   When he hadn’t responded, she’d pulled away to settle comfortably next to him.  They had looked up at the sky for a while before she’d whispered, “If not now, let me know when.”

The last of that memory washed over him as he turned the final corner on his route home.  It hurt, thinking of her, remembering her like that.  She’d asked for him and he’d come to her and yet....he’d run away.  Again.  Sighing, he pushed open his front door and made his way up the stairs when he wheeled around, brow pinched.  The front door always squeaked when he opened it; tonight, it hadn’t. Maybe his earlier thoughts hadn’t been so crazy after all. Regardless, he wasn’t running away from anyone. He’d not run again, even from a dangerous situation.

Hair standing up on the back of his neck, he drew his sword and silently padded up the stairs and slid around first one corner, then the next. His keen hunter’s eyes not missing anything especially not the footprints in the dust.  The boots were an average size and the tread was light.  An assassin, perhaps, or a rogue.

He sniffed the air around him and caught the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood.  Hawke?

Nerves alight, he turned the last corner and swung around the edge of the door into his bedroom.  It was dark save for one candle and the scent of her lured him deeper into the room.  Why was she hiding?  Was she frightened of him?

“Fenris, have a seat.”

Fenris spun on the balls of his feet, sword raised.  The spark of a match being lit gave him the briefest view of Varric sitting at a small table in the far corner.  He lit his cheroot, puffing on it a few times.  His eyes were flinty but his countenance easy.  Fenris wasn’t sure what was going on, but in the pit of his stomach, dread settled like the last grains in an hourglass.

Varric pushed out a chair with his foot and jerked his head at it.  Fenris walked over slowly and sat, wary and on edge.   _He’s come because of Hawke, a little voice said.  He’s come because you hurt her and now he’s taking revenge._

Bianca was still strapped to his back, so Fenris wasn’t immediately concerned that the dwarf would put a bolt in him, but everything about him, the very air around him simmered with danger.  This was not the first time Fernis considered the dwarf formidable, but it was the first time he’d seen Varric this still, this deadly.  

“We need to have a little chat, elf,” Varric began, puffing more on the cheroot.  “And don’t play dumb, or be a smartass about this.”  He leaned forward and blew smoke toward the other man.  “You see, Hawke forgives you for what happened.”  At the slightest raise of Fenris’ dark eyebrows, Varric chuckled humorlessly.  “She told me what...transpired between you two.  At least, enough for me to understand that you’re a fucking coward and that you aren’t worried about anyone else but yourself.”

Varric’s restraint was slowly unwinding - the elf just stared at him.  No outburst, no arguments, no apologies or excuses.  He took a few more deep drags, blowing smoke directly at Fenris, before he snuffed out the cheroot on the battered surface of the table and waited.  Fenris just sat there, expressionless, even when he said very simply, “I know.  And now Hawke knows it too.”

A growl tore from Varric’s throat as he shoved the table at Fenris.  The elf’s chair was knocked to the side and Fenris, quick on his feet like usual, hopped out of the way just in time to save himself from being crushed under the weight of the table.  But Varric was faster, grabbing the elf by the collar and slamming him into the wall.  Fenris’ head cracked hard against the stone, stars dancing before his eyes.

“You bastard,” Varric said, his voice so low Fenris almost missed it.  “You absolute piece of shit.”  With a howl of rage, Varric pulled back and swung, connecting with the elf’s cheek.  The blow snapped his head to the side, the pain an instant thing that left his face almost numb.  “How could you?”  Another blow, this one to the chin.  

Fenris let Varric land one more punch before shoving the dwarf away.  It took almost all the strength he had; the dwarf was so far beyond angry that he had an inhuman grip and was trying to shake him like a ragdoll.  Varric stumbled back, shook himself, and charged again.  Fenris barely stepped out of the way, tripping over the chair he’d been in moments before.  He quickly put his back to the door, dancing backwards and out of Varric’s reach.

“How could you do that to her?” Varric said, his chest heaving in anger.

“How could I do what?  Love her, or leave her?”

“Both,” Varric spat out.  

“Loving her is easy,” Fenris said, putting his hands out in front of him as Varric began to stalk toward him.  “Leaving her was not.”

“If you weren’t so sure of how you felt, why do that to her?” Varric countered, coming closer, his fists balled tightly against his sides.  Fenris was glad that he hadn’t pulled Bianca, but he wasn’t ruling it out.  He didn’t want to fight the dwarf, but he would if it came down to a question of survival.

“Because,” Fenris said slowly, “I did - do love her.  But what good am I to her like this?”  He gestured at himself.  “All I think about is revenge, Varric.  I couldn’t even put that aside long enough to be with her.”

“Then why?” Varric advanced on him, fast for a dwarf, and Fenris backpedaled out the door, not stopping until his back hit the balcony railing.  “Why, Fenris?”

Looking away from the twisted expression on Varric’s face, Fenris asked, “Would you go to her, if she asked?” One glance at the softening of the other man’s countenance gave Fenris his answer.  “If she flirted and played with you, then shoved you up against a wall and claimed you, would you simply walk away from her then?”  Varric’s hand reached for his throat and Fenris dropped to his knees, his world falling apart as he spoke.  “I don’t think any of us would turn her away if she wanted us.  So I didn’t.  But I was a fool.  I wasn’t prepared for what she offered.”

Varric curled his fingers around the elf’s throat.  “I should kill you,” he whispered roughly.  “But then Hawke would never forgive me.”  He leaned down, his face so close to Fenris’s that he could feel the man’s breath.  “But make no mistake - step out of line again, and Bianca will be the last thing you see.”

A swift punch to the gut left Fenris gasping for air and Varric inspecting his knuckles briefly before turning a glare icier than Tevinter in the dead of winter on him. "Never again, elf. You so much as make her frown, and I will end you." Varric spat near Fenris' foot. "You and I, we aren't friends. But for her sake, we _will_ work together." He pointed a finger at the elf. "For her, we will be civil to each other, we will have each other's backs in battle." He leaned in close and whispered, his voice as sharp as shattered glass, "But you and I know the score, Fenris. Don't make me regret not killing you tonight."

Varric pulled away, ready to leave the dark, dank hole Fenris called home. The elf's voice stopped him. "Does she know how you feel, Varric? Or was it all just a bluff for my benefit?"

Varric wheeled, Bianca in his hands. "What I do and do not tell Hawke is my business, elf."

Fenris pulled himself to his feet and dusted off his leather, thankful for the dark. It hid the slight tremor in his hands. "So that's a no?"

The snick of a bolt being slid back told Fenris he may have pushed too hard. "For now."

"And here I thought you lived by some higher code." Fenris couldn't help the sarcasm that was leaking out between his words. "For a merchant prince who is so attuned to the world around him, you're terribly ignorant of your own feelings."

Varric's glare pinned him in place, but after a long moment, the dwarf pointed Bianca away from Fenris' head and toward the floor. The hardness around his eyes softened before he replied, "I know how I feel about her."

Fenris crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "And?"

With a heavy sigh, Varric holstered Bianca. Fenris was silently glad for this bit of sanity after the terror of the other man's rage. "What do you want me to say, Fenris? That I love her and want to make little dwarf-human babies with her?"  The elf lifted one dark eyebrow and Varric laughed dryly.  "Part of that may not be true. At least, not right now."

Fenris suddenly had this absurd picture of Hawke and Varric in front of their home, Hawke holding a girl, a toddler who looked like her mother. Varric had his arms open wide as a younger boy who clearly took after the Tethras side of the family ran into his father's arms, copper hair glinting in the sun. It may have been an absurd notion at first but Fenris found that the longer the image lingered in his mind, the sweeter it became.

He took his chances and walked over to Varric, who was now staring at the floor like he was trying to picture his own suggestion. "You should tell her," he said quietly. "Don't make the mistakes I have."

Varric looked up at him, a snarl on his face that disappeared when he saw the full weight of regret settled on every line of Fenris' face. "So I just tell her?"

"Of course you just tell her. It's Hawke. She says whatever comes to her mind, why should you do any different?"

Varric nodded and began to walk away, his head full of possibilities. Before he left the room, he spun around and said clearly, "This doesn't make us even, elf. Not by a long shot."

"Perish the thought, dwarf. I fully expect you'll find ways for me to regain some standing in your eyes." His face softened before he hesitantly asked,  "Would apologizing to her be a good start?"

Varric gave a sharp nod. "It's a start."

"Then that is what I will do." Fenris looked down for a moment before saying, "I can't ever make it right, but I can begin there."

Neither one of them noticed the pair of honey brown eyes that had been watching their entire exchange close briefly as their owner muttered a string of curses before turning away, headed for the Hawke estate.

 

* * *

 

“Hawke, don’t!”

The plea in Isabela’s voice stayed Hawke’s hand on her sword.  “Why not?”

“He was trying to protect you.”  Isabela crossed her arms.  “It’s quite noble, really.  Any other woman would be flattered.”

“I don’t need to be _flattered_.  I asked him not to go after Fenris, and he blatantly disregarded my wishes.”  Hawke gritted her teeth.  “That damn dwarf-”

“And how do you think he’s going to feel,” Isabela said slowly, coming closer to her friend, “when he finds out you’ve been spying on him?”

“He brought it on himself,” Hawke bit out.

“Did he now?  Because I would think friends don’t spy on each other like that,” the pirate countered.  “Especially not friends who think so much of each other.”

“What would you know about my feelings for Varric?”

Isabela tutted at her while wrapping an arm around Hawke’s tense shoulders.  “More than you realize.  Do you know, when he walks into a room, you watch him?  No, not blatantly, he’d catch you in a heartbeat.  You do it out of the corner of your eye, like you’re afraid to get caught looking.”

“I do no such thing,” Hawke retorted, trying to pull away.

Isabela sighed.  “Sweet thing, listen to me for once.”  She gently nudged Hawke into a chair, and Hawke sat with a huff.  Isabela took the chair opposite her and leaned forward.  “You and Varric have been dancing around each other for years.  All those little remarks and asides, the way he touches you after a battle, just to make sure you’re okay.”  She gave Hawke a knowing look.  “It’s those little things, Hawke.  They’re important.  They mean something, something more than friendship.”

Hawke glared at her.  “What, friends can’t touch each other?”

Isabela laughed at that.  Hawke was so clearly in love with the dwarf, but was adamant about not admitting it.  These two, she thought, need to just be locked in a room together with no chairs, just a bed.  And naked.  Nudity always made things better.  “Hawke, I touch you all the time.  Doesn’t mean I’m going to drag you by your hair to my room and ravish you.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at that, making Isabela grin.  “Doesn’t mean you didn’t try.”

“I did, and that’s not the point right now.  Quit changing the subject.”  She pointed a finger at Hawke.  “Varric cares for you, a lot.  He actually lo-” and she stopped herself there.  The confession Varric had made to Fenris after beating the shit out of the elf had been rather sweet.  Her hesitation came from the fact that she wasn’t sure if she should be the one to tell Hawke.  It had nothing to do with her spilling Varric’s secret being a violation of their trust (he hadn’t even known she’d been there), but more about her wanting Varric to be the one to tell Hawke.  After all, she didn’t quite have Varric’s talent for words.  Too many emotions involved there.

“He actually what?” Hawke inquired, cocking her head.

Isabela took a deep breath.  “I’m going to tell you what I heard him say, but you have to promise me that you won’t act on it, or anything, tonight.  Give it, and yourself, time.  You’re still hurting, Varric is angry, Fenris is, well, what he always is except with a few more bruises.”

Hawke looked down at the floor for several long moments.  She had a feeling she knew what Isabela had been about to say before she stopped herself, but she wanted to hear the whole thing.  No, she needed to hear it.  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Isabela was right.  She and Varric had always been playful and flirty and to anyone else, it would appear to be just how they were with each other.  But there were many things the others weren’t aware of - long nights talking in her study, sharing wine and books together in his suite at The Hanged Man, the quiet moments between them when Hawke would catch him staring at her.  He’d smile then look away and it hurt a little, like tiny pinpricks, when he wouldn’t say the things she was hoping for.

_Come here, Hawke._

_Kiss me, Hawke._

_Stay with me tonight, Hawke._

And a million other little suggestions, some of which sent shivers skating down her spine.

Hawke drug her head back up and sighed resignedly.  “All right, tell me.  I promise not to do anything.”  She jerked her head toward the study.  “But afterwards, can we drink?”

“Until you pass out, Hawke,” Isabela replied, smiling widely.

That night, Hawke dreamt of wine and copper hair and leather gloves and a little dwarf boy with her eyes and Varric’s hair.

 

 

* * *

 

Time passes differently when you’re waiting on the precipice of a moment.  Especially if that moment stood a fair chance at never happening.  Varric was waiting - on her, on his courage, on them.  He felt off-kilter, like it would take the wind blowing the wrong way to knock him off course, leaving him hopelessly lost with no chance of finding his way back home.  And home, in this case, was her.

These last few weeks had been just business - his dealing with the Merchant’s Guild, daily trips to Hightown to check on news about Bartrand, and the times when he went to visit Anders in his clinic.  Their weekly card games had resumed, with even Merrill and Sebastian attending.  It all seemed right.  

And then there was Hawke’s business, which mostly involved killing things and collecting coin.  He’d accompanied her at her request multiple times, and they’d had a merry time slaughtering the bad guys and protecting innocents.  

Hell, _Fenris_ had even been in their party recently, again at Hawke’s request.  While he said little and didn’t act any more broody than normal, the elf was definitely different.  But then again, so was Hawke.

There was something in the air when they’d returned around sunset from a nasty job at an bandit encampment and it left Varric feeling unsettled.  He’d walked Daisy back to Lowtown, not needing to empty his coin purse any more than necessary to keep the elf out of trouble.  The long journey back to Hightown was made easier knowing that he and Hawke would do what they’d always - sit on her roof and smoke and talk and simply be with one another.

Voices near Hawke’s home stopped him.  He slipped into the shadows and listened, wary.

“Hawke, can we talk for a moment?” Fenris’s low growl of a voice said quietly.  

“Fenris, what is it?”

“I need to tell you something.”  Varric heard the rustle of clothes and the soft sound of leather sliding over skin.  Chancing it, he glanced around the corner and saw Fenris take Hawke’s hand.  “I’m sorry Hawke, more than I can ever express to you in words.”

Hawke closed her eyes for just a moment, then turned to face him.  She squeezed his hand.  “I know, Fenris.”  She stepped closer to him.  “And you don’t need to apologize.  It hurt, I have to admit, when you left.  But I understand, Fenris.  I do.”  She reached up to cradle his face.  “Are you still willing to be by my side?”

Fenris let out a choked sound before hoarsely replying, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hawke leaned in to kiss his cheek.  “Then what’s past is past, Fenris.  You’re my friend and my best warrior and I’m glad to have you with me.”  She stepped back from him.  “Good night, Fenris.”

“Good night, Hawke.”  The elf nodded gravely and watched her smile, then walk inside her home.  He raised one hand to touch the place where she’d kissed him, then turned and headed home.

Varric felt like an intruder, lurking the shadows, watching that private moment.  But a small part of him was glad he’d witnessed it - any lingering doubts about Hawke’s affection for Fenris had been put to rest, and now Varric wondered how in the hell he was going to talk to Hawke without spilling his guts to her.

_Hey Hawke, how’s it going?  The neighbors doing anything interesting?  You ought to see the new trigger mechanism I put on Bianca, it’s a beauty._

_By the way, I beat the shit out of Fenris a few weeks ago and made him apologize to you.  And also, I love you and want to make little dwarf babies with you.  Would that be okay?_

Varric ran a weary hand down his face.  Ancestors, why did this have to be so difficult?

And damn Hawke, making him feel like this.  Making him take up arms just to defend her, even when she told him not to, making him feel like his heart would burst every time he laid eyes on her.  He didn’t know precisely when he started seeing the shades of brown and orange in her hair, or when her eyes went from being described as _blue_ to _cerulean_ , _bluer than the ocean_ , or just _stunning_.  And Ancestors take him, when did he start paying attention to how she moved when she walked?

If her kiss, sweet and supple and completely unfair (he had wanted more, didn’t take it, spent all day and all night dreaming of her lips) was any indication, he was long gone, and had been for quite some time.  She was friend and partner and confidant.

 _And she should be your lover_ , Varric’s evil subconscious shouted at him.

Sighing, he patted Bianca before taking off on the long way around, pausing to hand off some papers to a Hightown merchant trying to get in good with the Guild.  It gave him time to think, since he was well stuck in a mire of his own thoughts and desperately trying to shake a strand of sense loose.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thought, _that's when I'll talk to her. Do it tomorrow._

* * *

 

As he opened the door to his suite and saw Hawke sitting at his table, all his plans fell apart.

Hawke waited until he closed the door to clear her throat and say, “Good evening, Serah Tethras.”

“Good evening, Serah Hawke,” he replied almost automatically.  He looked around the room and briefly wondered if he’d gone in the wrong door.  “What’s this all about, Morena?”

Hawke smiled at him.  “Well, seeing as how I missed our date night a while back, I thought I’d make it up to you.”  She motioned toward the table loaded with food and wine. A bouquet of perfect, blood red roses sat squarely in the middle of the feast. “I may have gone a little overboard."

“No such thing,” Varric said, fighting back a smile.  She looked so damn proud.  And gorgeous, he thought as he looked more closely at her.  That was a dress he’d never seen - dark blue, off the shoulders, her hair tied back in the middle so the longest layer was loose.  The dress had a wide black belt that cinched her waist, accentuating her hips and bringing attention to her breasts.

In short, she was perfect, his dream.  And also likely his nightmare, since once he confessed to her what had happened (and he would confess, he'd been silent too long), she’d leave him.  Maybe never come back.

Varric settled in his usual chair, eyeing a particularly fetching mutton flank and trying to find the right words for his confession when her hand on his arm stopped him.  “I have a confession to make...I know what happened between you and Fenris a few weeks ago.”  His eyes slid to her, wary, and she squeezed his arm gently.  “I’ll say this to start - I don’t approve of what you did.  You did exactly the opposite of what I asked and when I found out, well.... I was so furious at first that I almost marched over to Hightown to string you up on my rafters.”

She leaned toward him, her expression shifting slightly into something he wasn’t sure about.  “I’ve had someone watching, ever since I told you what happened between Fenris and I.  Maker, the look on your face when I told you....I thought you were going to take off then and go on an elf murdering spree.”

Varric coughed around a swig of wine, not shocked that Hawke had set someone to spy on him but surprised at how observant she had been. He was excellent at schooling his face to not betray too many emotions, but she saw right through him.  “Is it a murdering spree if it’s just one elf?”

She gave him a disapproving glare, but the quirk of her lips told him she was fighting back a smile.  “You know what I mean.  I don’t think you were even aware of your expression.  I know I’ve never seen you look that _dangerous_ before, Varric.  It frightened me.”  She chewed on her lip for a moment and then said, “So I had Isabela tailing you - just watching.”  Hawke cast her eyes downward, slightly ashamed she’d spied on him.  Her words tumbled out quickly.  “I needed to know.  She told me everything. She also helped me understand.”

“Everything?”  Varric’s hand shook slightly as he drained his glass.  “She heard and saw every little thing?”  Hawke nodded, and Varric’s heart sank.  Isabela, and now Hawke, had heard his declaration.  Hawke was acting terribly calm about this whole thing and it unnerved him something awful.  “And where is our favorite pirate queen now?” Varric asked innocently, trying to push all his nervousness away.

Hawke’s eyes narrowed.  “Oh no, you do not get to do anything about that.  I hired her, I paid her, our contract is done.”

Varric fingered the rim of his wine glass, afraid of the answer to his next question.  “All right, then how did she help you understand why I went after the elf?”

Hawke sighed and leaned back in her chair.  It made her dress bunch in all the right places around her breasts, giving Varric a little more to look at.   _She’s distracting you with her breasts_ , he thought and had to suppress a laugh at his own absurdity, and his roaming eyes.

“Isabela told me it was about more than just you avenging me.  Which I recall telling you not to do.”  She traced a finger down the rough edge of the table.  “But she also said that past your anger, you were upset on my behalf.”  Her voice lowered.  “She said you mentioned something about love and little dwarf babies.”

Varric swallowed hard.  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that she mentioned the dwarf babies were a joke?”

“Were they?”  Hawke was having a hard time holding back a smile.  Isabela’s memory was rock solid and she had repeated the conversation between Fenris and Varric almost word for word.  She definitely hadn’t heard wrong about dwarf babies, according to horrified look on Varric’s face.

“I, uh...shit, Hawke.”  Varric wiped a hand down his face and contemplated how far he could get out the door before she ran him down. Maybe ten seconds of freedom, tops.

Hawke burst out laughing, the tension in the room spinning away like it had been backhanded.  Up until now, Varric could count on one hand the number of times he’d been left speechless. This was number six.

When she calmed down, Hawke focused those blue eyes on him.  “We’ll talk about the dwarf babies later.  I’m more interested in knowing if this confession of love was real, not just some heat of the moment thing to make Fenris jealous.”

Varric sputtered briefly before saying, “Rivaini heard wrong, Hawke.” He instantly regretted the lie. What was he trying to protect, his pride?

“Really?”  She raised one perfect eyebrow, her skeptical eyes pinning him to his seat.  “Do you mean to tell me you don’t love me?”  Varric opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was cut off.  “Because I have to admit, if that’s the case, I’ll be terribly disappointed, heartbroken even.”  She picked up a bunch of grapes and popped one into her mouth.  “I had this all planned out, Varric.  You’d come here, be surprised, we’d eat, and then I was going to seduce you into my bed.”  She shot a quick glance into the dark half of the room.  “Well, maybe your bed.”  

Hawke rose from her chair to kneel at the side of his.  He tried to speak again, but she stopped him, all joking gone.  “I made a mistake, with Fenris.  I know that now.  I know he’s hurting and I’m still recovering from it.... but that morning, on the roof?”  A small, soft smile graced her face.  “That was one of the kindest, most romantic things anyone has ever done for me.  It was that moment, right before I kissed you, that I knew.”  She brought her hand to his face, like he had done for her on that terrible evening.  “I’d be lost without you, Varric.  You’re more than my rock, more than my friend.  I confess to not fully knowing or understanding what I’m feeling, but if it’s love, then....I don’t want to lose it.”

She wanted the truth, needed it from him.  "So I'll ask again....was that confession true?"

He answered her with a kiss. It matched the one she she had given him on the roof that morning, sweet and honest. Her gasp of shock was muted by his lips.

There was no demand in it, just a simple exclamation, but it spoke the volume of his heart.  He felt her shift slightly, trying to get closer to him. Unsure of where to place his hands, he kept a firm grip on the armrest of the chair with one, the other molding against her right cheek. Her hands, however, were restless - one latched onto his shoulder, fingers tracing the fine stitching of his jacket, the other skimming the stubble on his jaw, up to his ear, then back down again.

Her touch made him shiver. It wa such a little thing, could almost be taken for innocent, but it unraveled him. He gently pulled back and saw her wide-eyed, but pleased expression. He lifted one eyebrow rakishly. "Who is seducing who now?"

"Do you mean to seduce me, Varric?"  She grinned at him, running a delicate finger down his chest.  “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

A thrill traveled down his spine like lightning.  “Oh, beautiful, you have no idea the door you just opened,” he said roughly before palming the back of her head and bringing her mouth to his.  This kiss was ferocious, years of pent up longing becoming reality.

The touch of his tongue against hers made her weak.   _Maker, how did he learn to kiss like that?_

Varric felt her cant forward and the rational part of his brain, what was left of it, remembered she was kneeling on the floor.   _Can’t have that_ , he thought before breaking off the kiss.  She whimpered at the loss but he just chuckled.  “The floor is no place for a lady, especially not my lady.”  Getting down from the chair, he started to pull her over toward the bed.  

He stopped a few feet from the end of the bed and looked up at her.  “And yes, Hawke, that confession was true.  I’m sorry I lied to you, I’m sorry I went after Fenris-”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Are you really? About Fenris, I mean."

Varric grumbled unintelligibly before admitting, “I am.”  He reached out and ran his fingers over her bare shoulder.  She shivered and he suppressed a grin.  “But that doesn’t mean I forgive him, not yet.”

Morena took that moment to back away from him to sit on the bed, leaning back on her forearms.  “I can deal with that, for now.”  A moment of doubt crossed her mind and it showed on her face.  “Are you sure about this, Varric?  Some men might consider me damaged goods at this point.  Or be wary because they don’t want to be a rebound relationship.”

His face contorted in fury.  “Don’t you ever say that.  Damaged goods, because you had a lover leave you and it still hurts?  Your pain is something you can move past, Hawke, something I intend on helping you with.  It has no bearing on me, or us, or what I feel for you.”  He sat beside her and put a hand on her leg.  “And I know for a fact I’m not a rebound relationship, you’ve told me as much.  I know you felt something for Fenris.  It’s the reality of things.  But our bond goes deeper than that, love.  Much deeper.”

“So you want me as much as I want you?” Morena couldn’t stop the question before it left her mouth, but it made her flinch nonetheless.  “Varric, I-”

He swung around to put a leg on either side of her hips so they were facing each other.  He quickly stripped off his gloves and shucked off his jacket before saying, “I’ve wanted you for years, beautiful.  The reason I didn’t do this sooner was because I was afraid to.  We’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin anything between us.”  

He reached back and pulled the clip from her hair.  It felt down in a wave of lustrous red and he gently brushed it from her face.  Varric smiled at the picture she made, wild hair and wilder eyes and pink lips swollen from his kisses.  “But now...Ancestors, how could I say no to you?  What you and I have, Hawke, is something people will tell stories about long after we’re gone.”  

A gleam in his eye, he ran a hand through the air in front of his chest.  “Besides, how could you resist this fine specimen of dwarf?  I’ve been told that without the requisite beard, my chest hair is just that much more impressive.”

She laughed at that and reached up to comb her fingertips through the aforementioned chest hair.  “It is very impressive, I must admit.”

He leaned down to nuzzle her neck, placing a few soft kisses down the slim column of her throat before saying, “It’s not the only thing that’s impressive, beautiful.”

The gasp Varric let out when she slid a hand between them to gently estimate just _how_ much impressiveness he was referring to made her laugh wickedly.  “You ought to know by now, Varric, that I could never just let a comment like that stand.”

“Such a tease,” he growled into her ear, nipping at her.  She jumped and he chuckled.  “Do I get to find out what else makes you jump?”

Hawke laid back on the bed and smiled at him, her face flushed and her eyes dark.  “Only if I get to see just how impressive we’re talking.”

“One thing at a time, Hawke,” he replied, running a hand along her side, feeling the fine cloth of her dress.  If he really wanted to, he could rip it from her, but it seemed like a shame to ruin such a fine thing.  He’d rather enjoy taking it off of her, revealing her inch by gorgeous inch.  “I’m seducing you, remember?”

“This time,” she retorted.  “Next time, it’s my turn.”

Varric bent down to kiss her again, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other trying to pull the shoulder of her dress lower.

“Mmm, Varric,” she mumbled against him mouth, “it laces up the back.”

His lips skated across her cheek.  “Looks like you’ll have to turn over if you want me to get you out of it.”

Her response to that was a suggestive wiggle of her hips which Varric greatly appreciated.  Laughing, he climbed off of her but didn’t let her go completely.  Instead of just letting her turn over, he reached for the wide brass buckle on her belt.  One finger flipped open the catch and then he let that finger trail downward, skimming over her abdomen and just slightly lower.  Instinctively she arched into his touch, the one finger giving birth to every fevered daydream she’d ever had about him and his dextrous hands.  Her eyes followed his finger and when it stopped, just shy of exactly where she wanted it, the glare she gave him made him grin.

“Last chance to say no, Hawke,” he said as he pulled the belt from her waist.

“Wouldn't you rather have me say, _oh yes, please, more_ ,” Morena replied huskily, watching his eyes darken at the throb in her voice.  He tossed the belt aside, then bent down to get rid of his boots.  The (she was very sure purposeful) view he gave her as he bent at the waist had her gripping the bed’s coverlet fiercely.  She really wanted to grab a handful of the backside he was all but shoving at her, but she was determined to refuse the temptation.  He was supposed to be seducing her, after all.  

But she really did want to smack him square on the ass.

Varric straightened, then twirled a finger in the air.  “Are you going to let me get that dress off you?”

She smiled at him.  “Only if you promise to go slowly.”

“How could I deny my lady the pleasure of these hands?” he said, then with a grand gesture, pulled the covers back so she could lay down.  Hawke kicked off her shoes, not wanting them to get in the way.  

The sheets were soft, almost silky under her as she crawled up the bed and laid down on her stomach.  She felt the mattress give as he knelt beside her, fingertips skimming along the laces of the dress.  They ran right along her spine, starting between her shoulder blades and ending at her tailbone.  And it was tied tightly, more than she normally would have had Orana pull it.

But the tighter the dress, the more she showed off.  And Varric was appreciative of that.

Hawke squirmed under his light-as-air touch.  He traced the tops of her shoulders with both hands, whispering kisses over the bared skin, before undoing the knot at the base of her spine.  It gave way under his rogue’s hands like melted butter.

Hawke smothered a laugh as she felt the lacings loosen.  “Should have known your hands would be good for more than just picking locks.”

“Picking locks, sliding home bolts,” he responded, slowly undoing the laces, “driving beautiful women insane with my touch.  All in a day’s work, love.”

The dress gaped as he pulled the lacings free.  Each tiny bump and ridge was caressed, making her writhe.   _He is far too good at this_ , Hawke thought as he reached the middle of her back.  A few more agonizing moments later, and the dress fell to her sides as though it had been split by a blade.

Varric leaned down and kissed her back, trailing lips and tongue over her spine.  All that exposed skin was driving him mad, and he hadn’t even seen the best parts yet.  

Morena bit back a moan and Varric, damn his keen ears, heard her fighting her own pleasure.  “Let it out, Hawke.  It’s just us,” he whispered in her ear.  “I want to hear you.”  

She did moan at that and he smiled.  “See?  Was that so hard?”

“Damn dwarf,” she muttered into the pillow, making him chuckle low and throaty.

He passed a gentle, but curious hand over her.  “No smallclothes, Hawke?  You naughty girl.”

That made her prop herself up on her arms and turn to look at him.  “I can’t very well seduce you properly if I make you take off those annoying things, now can I?”  

Varric threw back his head and laughed.  “Oh, you are something else, aren’t you Hawke?”

“Morena,” she replied.  “Hawke is what everyone else calls me.  You should use my given name.”

Varric hummed in agreement before bending to kiss her.  “I can do that, if you’ll just turn back over.”

She gave him a coy smile.  “Wondering what I look like naked?”

 _Only every day for the last three years_.  “Tell you what,” he said, pulling up the hem of his tunic, “fair is fair in this case.”  He whipped the garment over his head and tossed behind him.

Now there’s a sight, she thought as she looked up at him, drinking him in.  “Well, you are a fine specimen of dwarf, indeed.”  And she turned and sat up, letting him pull the dress down.  It snagged on her breasts and they both laughed.  Not standing on ceremony any more, she yanked it down and let Varric drag it down her body, the fine cloth whispering against her skin and raising goosebumps.

Varric let the dress drop in a heap and he stood back and just stared at her.  Ancestors, she was a sight, completely naked and spread out over his bed.  He caught her eyeing his trousers and gave a little bow before saying, “I shouldn’t keep a lady waiting, should I?”

She took a deep breath (and it did wondrous things to her gorgeous chest, Varric noticed) and said, “No, you should not.  I’m in a terrible state here, Varric.”  Morena ran a hand over her thigh while the other gently cupped her breast.  “I may have to take things into my own hands if you don’t hurry up.”

Varric had never stripped his pants off faster.  Trousers went one way, smalls another and then he was climbing over her, letting her get a good look at the true definition of _impressive_.

Morena’s eyes widened slightly as she saw him, beautiful and naked and within reach.  Her fingers explored his arms, his stomach, his thighs but skirted around the one part that was practically begging for her touch.  Varric groaned at her near-misses.

 _Ancestors, I’m supposed to be seducing her_ , he thought. He lowered his head and captured a nipple in between his teeth. The moan she let out made his cock twitch against her thigh. He was too busy tasting her to care at the moment. Clever fingers pinched her other nipple and she thrashed against him, moaning wordlessly.

Their eyes met as Varric lifted his head to give her a wolfish smile.  Morena ran her hands through his hair, pulling it free and watching as it fell around his face.  

His silent question was answered by her pulling him closer, her hand guiding him.  The first touch was almost too much, her wet heat engulfing him.  Varric closed his eyes and bit back a moan before pushing into her.  She gasped, fingernails sinking into his arms, and then let out a low groan.

“Maker,” she whispered, arching against him.

“The name’s Varric, beautiful,” he replied cheekily.  He got a swat on the backside in response, making him laugh and moan the same time.

“I’ll try to remember that,” she said huskily, running her fingers down his back.  She met him for a kiss then said, “Please, Varric.”

Those were now his two favorite words in all of Thedas.  From her lips, it sounded like a plea and a promise and a declaration and it was perfect.

He ran his lips over her jaw and said softly, “For you, Morena, anything.”

They moved together, learning each other’s bodies and rhythms.  A few awkward moments where she lost her grip or he pushed too hard (or not hard enough) left them laughing, but such things were part of the fun.  Hawke was constantly touching him - his hair, his face, even digging her fingers into his ass to pull him that much closer.  She wasn’t a shy lover, always watching him and observing what made him gasp or moan.  She was a hell of a quick learner too, matching him thrust for thrust and figuring out how to move her hips in ways that left him breathless.

He touched her anywhere he could with mouth and hands, loving the way she squirmed and wiggled under him.  The feel of her skin against his, warm and slick, was enough to make him lose that last little bit of control.  

When she clenched around him, he groaned into her neck and said, “I can’t hold off much longer, love.”

“Then don’t,” she panted, bringing her hands to her face and dragging him down to capture his mouth one more time.  

Varric broke away from her, tucking his face into her neck and biting down on her shoulder just hard enough to force a growl from her.  White hot light exploded behind his eyes and the too-taut coil in his belly released as he spilled into her, waves of pleasure stealing his breath and his sanity.  Morena’s breath caught as she felt him tip over the edge and she broke apart with a cry, holding him to her.

A moment hung in the air - their ragged breathing, the last sparks of desire echoing through their bodies, the room smelling of candles and wine and sex.  

Morena’s eyes fluttered open and she saw him collapsed beside her, face down into a pillow.  Chuckling, she rolled over to him and winced.  Maker, she’d feel that for a day, but there were no regrets.  He was a magnificent lover.

And now he was passed out beside her.   _Typical_ , she thought, stifling a laugh.   _They always fall asleep afterwards_.

As soon as she touched his back he groaned and reluctantly pulled his head up to peek out at her through his hair.  She snorted and said, “I thought you were asleep.”

Varric shook his head and that movement made the room spin rather pleasantly.  Ancestors, what had she done to him?  “Dwarven stamina.  Plus, I’m starving.”

She laughed and pulled the covers away, letting him watch her stretch then saunter over to the table.  All he could see was pale flesh and curves and bed-tussled hair and it was beautiful.  She was beautiful.

Morena came back to the bed, loaded plate in one hand, wine glass in the other.  She handed both to him and he set the glass aside, then put the plate between them.

They took turns feeding each other, letting juices drip down their chins to be licked away, or offering fingers coated in sauce to a welcoming mouth. When the plate was empty and that appetite was also sated, Hawke curled beside him, one leg flung over his, her head on his chest.

She was sprawled over him, hand settled over his heart, her hair all around him... and he was, for the first time that he could remember, truly happy. And it was because of her.

"Morena," he said softly, "love, are you still awake down there?"

She mumbled something into his chest before pulling her head up to look at him. "Barely." His gentle gaze and little smile had her grinning. He was looking at her like she was his world. "I love you, Varric."

"And here I thought I was the one who always knew the right thing to say," he replied, stroking her hair. "Love isn't easy for me, Morena, never has been." He blew out a breath. "But damn if you didn't saunter in here with your plans and your smart mouth and your big heart and steal mine away."  Her smile grew wider. "I love you too."

It's a funny thing, he thought as he drifted to sleep after kissing her one more time, what happens when that moment you've been anticipating becomes reality. Every cockamamie scheme, every fevered daydream or bit of wistful thinking can't compare to the real thing. Love, it turns out, was something to fear and something to hold close. Like the wind or rain or first bit of sunlight on the horizon, love could change everything just by existing.

_“Love is a luxury."_

_"No. Love is an element."_

_“An element. Like air to breathe, earth to stand on.”_

_― Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke & Bone_

 


End file.
